Tears of the Legion
by ShadowedLight
Summary: The Legion is fading as an ancient threat returns to haunt it. Unable to enter Azeroth and unable to sway its races, the Legion sends one last demon to Azeroth, not to destroy but to protect it. This is his story. Chapter 1 is up!
1. Prologue

Author's Note:  
  
This is a project I have been planning for some time. My Link in Azeroth crossover fic was just for fun. This is my serious work. If people don't like this one, I'm not a good writer _ Needless to say, I am anxiously awaiting your reviews. Please, PLEASE review! *ahem* I truly hope you enjoy this, I don't own anything except original characters and concepts, blah blah blah. Anyway, here is the prologue. Since I plan on having the actual chapters be very long, and since I'm juggling the Link in Azeroth fic along with school, updates may take a while. I will try however to update once a week. Now, here we go.  
  
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THE CENTURIES PASSED. WE TRIED AGAIN AND AGAIN. WE CORRUPTED THE ORCS, CREATED THE SCOURGE, AND INVADED MANY TIMES. OUR ARMIES WERE VAST AND POWERFUL. OUR MIGHT WAS UNDENIABLE. BUT WE FAILED. AGAIN AND AGAIN WE FAILED. THOSE WHO WE ONCE COUNTED AS PAWNS HAVE CLAIMED THEIR FREEDOM, AND NOW HAVE ONLY HATRED TOWARDS US. OUR NUMBERS WANE, AND OUR POWER FADES AS OUR ENEMIES GROW. THE TIME OF THE BURNING LEGION HAS PASSED, AND ALL WE HAVE WORKED TOWARDS HAS BEEN THWARTED.  
  
AND NOW, THE ONE WE HAD ONCE THOUGHT GONE FOREVER HAS RETURNED. NO LONGER WILL HE AFFILIATE HIMSELF WITH US. NO LONGER WILL HE BE CONTENT WITH FAILURES. HE IS GROWING POWERFUL, MORE POWERFUL THAN WE COULD HOPE TO MATCH. HE STANDS NOW AS A THREAT TO NOT ONLY AZEROTH BUT TO THE BURNING LEGION ITSELF.  
  
OUR PATHWAYS INTO AZEROTH HAVE LONG SINCE BEEN CLOSED. NONE OF ITS RACES WILL LISTEN TO US. OUR ARMIES CAN DO NOTHING BUT WATCH AS THE THREAT GROWS, GROWS UNTIL IT WILL CONSUME EVERYTHING. PERHAPS FOR THE FIRST TIME, I, KIL'JAEDEN, TASTE THE BITTERNESS OF FEAR. PERHAPS FOR THE FIRST TIME, OUR THOUGHTS ARE NOT BENT ON CONQUEST.  
  
PERHAPS OUR END HAS COME AT LAST. THAT IS A POSSIBILITY I CANNOT AFFORD TO IGNORE. BUT WE WILL NOT GO DOWN HELPLESSLY, FOR WE STILL HAVE ONE HOPE LEFT. A DESPERATE HOPE PERHAPS, BUT OUR ONLY ONE...  
  
FOR I AND THE OTHER REMAINING DEMONLORDS HAVE POOLED OUR POWER TOGETHER. IN THE CHAOS OF THE TWISTING NETHER THIS LAST HOPE WAS FORGED. IF HE FAILS, THEN NOTHING STANDS BETWEEN US AND THE WRATH OF THE FALLEN ONE. IF HE FAILS, THEN AZEROTH ALONG WITH ALL OTHER WORLDS, WILL FALL. WE DO NOT KNOW HOW LONG HE HAS, BUT WE KNOW THAT HE CANNOT FAIL. NEVER BEFORE HAS OUR VERY EXISTANCE BEEN THREATENED. NEVER HAVE THE STAKES BEEN HIGHER.  
  
GO NOW, OUR SON. GO FORTH, PRINCE OF THE BURNING LEGION. IT IS A GREAT BURDEN THAT YOU BEAR, FOR ON YOUR SHOULDERS REST THE FATES OF US ALL.  
  
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A bright streak of light cut through the night skies above Azeroth, only to vanish moments later over the horizon. Below, the human village paid little heed. A few children pointed up at the shooting star in delight, and a few adults marveled at their youth, for all wonder in such things had since faded from their hearts. Indeed, it had been a long time since any of them had gazed up at the heavens.  
  
The only thing left in their hearts was dread. None of the humans gave the star a second thought, as fear of the scourge sickened their minds more than any plague of undead design could. Such was the power of the scourge; to win their battles before they are fought. There were only few warriors in the village, and one aged priest. Most of them were bent over with apprehension, and none of them were fit to fight.  
  
Had there been mages in their midst however, they would have realized the nature of the star. Their hearts and minds perhaps, might have cleared, if not lightened. They would perhaps have realized that the world had come to a turning point, for the Burning Legion would now be fighting to save Azeroth rather than conquer it. But none of them did, and none of them witnessed the shooting star crash into the surrounding forests. And so, for perhaps the last time, the sky rained fire, though only a single drop. But with this tear of the legion came the champion of the world, and the only defender of all of Azeroth. 


	2. Arrival

Author's Note

I just realized something: it gets old when I keep begging people to review each chapter. So instead I'll just hope that everyone who reads this will be kind enough to review it. Of course that's likely a vain hope, but that doesn't matter. Anyway, here is chapter 1, finally finished. *phew* Now I have to write chapter 6 of Link in Azeroth…

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He had arrived like any infernal of the legion. Awaiting life, his fiery stone form fell to the hard ground like a meteor. Then, awaking slowly, he stood up, still wreathed in green flames. He took a slow, uncertain step out of the burning crater, and as his foot crashed to the ground, a portion of the burning stone that encased him fell off, revealing human flesh. He took another step. More stone fell. Finally, exhausted by the effort, he fell to his knees just as the rest of his encasing fell away. Head now throbbing, he began to crawl away from crater.

As his vision cleared, the first thing he noticed was that a few stubborn tongues of flame still clung to his skin. He wasn't really bothered by the heat; in fact all he felt was a strange numbing sensation at its touch. Still, he wasn't exactly comfortable with it either. Letting out a groan, he rolled over onto his back to quench the flames, and tried to figure out what had happened to him.

He first tried to recall who he was. Strangely, he found that he didn't know. Confused, he sat up and rubbed his temples. His head was still spinning, and he sat there for a few moments to ease the pain. After the endless throbbing had begun to cease, he tried to remember something, anything about himself. His memory was all hazy, and he couldn't recall anything specific. However, he found that he _knew_ things about himself. Vague things. There was something about a mission, someone named Killijen or Killadin or something like that. And then there was something about a threat. What was its name? He couldn't remember.

_Demons_. He thought suddenly. Then immediately afterwards, _what about demons? He didn't know. He didn't know __anything! Pounding the ground in frustration, he found to his surprise that soil was hurled into the air and stone shattered with every blow. _Is this normal?_ He asked himself. The obvious answer was that he didn't know, though he felt in his gut that it wasn't right. He immediately decided that he would have to keep his anger under control._

After getting his bearings for a few minutes, he stood up and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a forest, he realized. A pale mist hung over it, and the trees seemed strangely strained, as if struggling against some taint. _How do I know that?_ He wondered idly, his rage and impatience carefully stowed away. Turning around he saw to his regret that the flames from the crater had scorched the surrounding trees. Yet even as he looked, the fire began to die down in the absence of demonic rage. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned and strode off into the forest.

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Glick hummed to himself as he worked. Building a zeppelin by yourself is a lonely business, but for a goblin far from boring. After all, who could be bored with images of wealth constantly playing over and over in your head? Glick had it all planned out; he would build his zeppelin and sell his goods all over the world. He would be the first to start an airborne business! The profits would be unimaginable! Spurred on by these thoughts, Glick began to work more furiously, fitting another propeller onto the frame of the zeppelin. 

Suddenly, from above, he heard strange, muffled voices. The goblin cursed under his breath; that would be those rotting forsaken again. Their armies had been passing through the area recently with alarming regularity, and Glick had even had to move his construction to an underground cavern to avoid painful inconvenience. This wasn't too uncomfortable a situation for the goblin, whose ancestors traditionally delighted in messing with stone, but Glick still found the regular ruckus distracting. In addition, the small stream in the back of the cave made the air damp by the goblin standards, and it was hard to build zeppelins by candlelight. Glick had learned to manage, but couldn't help but feel resentful towards the undead.

More voices came from above. This time they were louder. It seemed like someone was shouting up there. Wondering what in profit's name the undead were up to now, Glick walked over to a number of pipes that led off into the wall. He had found weeks ago that his curiosity kept getting the better of him, and so he had decided to install the complicated system so that he could see, and more importantly, hear what was going on above ground. Putting his ear to one pipe, Glick listened carefully. 

"Faster you worthless worms! Lord Varmitharas has ordered that these woods be scoured from top to bottom! Leave no stone unturned, and move quickly! If the scourge realizes what's going on, their armies may be here in moments!"

Now that was interesting! Completely forgetting about the zeppelin, Glick uncovered another pipe and peered through it. The person making all the noise was apparently a recently deceased human of sorts clothed in the garb of a living general. All around him, rotting ghouls, ogres, and a few rancid abominations were tearing through the thick foliage.

"But sir, what's going on that's so important?" A ghoul asked.

The commander strode over to the ghoul and kicked him. Hard. It was a well-calculated blow, with just enough force to send the ghoul flying into the underbrush without shattering its relatively fragile frame.

"Don't ask questions! Do you feeling like facing down the Lich King's entire army? No? Then MOVE damn you! Find the demon or Varmitharas himself will deal with you!"

Demon? This entire force was after a demon? Glick wondered. He had heard of demons; frightening fiery things that crushed anything that they could get their hands on. But the little news from the north that he had gleaned from customers before the forsaken had taken over had said that the demons had all been beaten. What's more, from what he had heard from previous undead armies, this Varmitharas was a pretty important guy. Why would he be personally interested in hunting down a single demon?

Glick didn't know, but he was sure that he could somehow turn this situation to his advantage. Maybe the forsaken would pay for information about the demon? Glick didn't have a problem with cooperating with the undead, inconvenient though they were, so long as it generated profit. But nah, that commander seemed way too unstable to approach. Perhaps he'd just let the Scourge have its way with them and loot the battlefield later. Yeah, that sounded good.

Content with his decision, Glick returned to building his zeppelin, waiting for the screams to come from above that would signify the Scourge's arrival. Utterly unconcerned with his cowardice, Glick began to hammer wood planks onto the empty frame of the zeppelin. Humming once again, he reflected on how the only ones who always benefited from wars were scavengers.

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He smelled something. No human should have, but he didn't know that. He only knew that whatever it was he smelled, he had some deep grudge associated with it, something that stirred his anger despite his efforts to the contrary. Aside from that, the scent was foul, like rotting meat. There was some strange familiarity about the scent, a fact that he found strange due to his lack of familiarity of anything else he had encountered, including himself. His interest piqued, he followed the scent where it was strongest.

As he walked stealthily through the forest, he began to hear some disturbance further ahead. That meant that there was some living creature nearby. Upon this discovery, he began to walk faster, eager to learn whatever he could from whatever it was that was making the noise. As he walked, he noticed that the smell began to grow stronger, and it took a lot of effort on his part to suppress the slowly building rage that filled his mind. Eventually, when the crashing and tear sounds were just ahead of him and the smell was at its strongest, he had to struggle to keep himself under control. The vague rage that he had first felt had now taken shape, and was urging him on, speaking to him. 

It was telling him to destroy. 

He ignored it. Instead, he peered through the trees. Something big was knocking the foliage aside. What was it? _Destroy the enemy. He couldn't quite tell, the creature's form was hidden by the trees. __Kill it! Wait, did he see right? From what he could tell, the creature had three arms. But that couldn't be. __It's an enemy! Destroy it! The voices were getting louder now, he couldn't ignore them anymore. _Fight! Destroy! _He clutched the sides of his head with his hands, trying desperately to fight the voices. It was becoming painful to ignore the urges, and he fell to his knees, breaking a twig beneath him. _

Suddenly, the creature that had puzzling him so heard the twig snap, and spun around. Through his inner struggle, he could see the creature, and he knew right then that whatever it was, it was _wrong. Whatever it was, it was very, very _wrong_! A body sewn together from rotting hunks of flesh. A hideous, bald head with a twisted, elongated mouth dripping green liquid. Gory gashes and holes all over its body. Open wounds revealing still-moving organs. This was wrong, _wrong_, so _WRONG_! _

And then, while he stared at the horrible monstrosity, the angry voices inside of him spoke to him simply.

_Fix it_.

He let out a deep roar of pure rage, and he knew that he must destroy the abominable being! The abomination seemed truly surprised to encounter a naked human in forsaken territory, and was even more surprised when the human in question lunged at him. Letting out a grisly battle cry, the abomination swung one of his formidable butcher knives at his curious foe. Imagine the undead's shock when the human easily evaded the blow, and in one fluid motion seized one of his arms and somersaulted, snapping it off like a twig. 

Staring at ruined limb in dumb shock, the abomination never saw the demon coming. He died a quick death as the demon's fist plunged into his rotting head, and crushed his undead brain. Hearing the cries of both warriors, forsaken warriors came pouring in from all sides. The demon, with unfathomable strength, picked up the abomination with one arm and hurled it at a cluster of ghouls. He then spun around and deftly twisted an ogre's wrist, seized its club and proceeded to smash wave after wave of angry undead. 

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The undead commander, staying a decent distance from the fray, watched in dismay as his forces bit by bit went into the meat grinder, so to speak. Bits and pieces of rotting flesh flew past him, as the demon, seized by a bloodlust of mythical proportions, beat an abomination until his club broke. The demon kept on swinging for a few seconds until he realized that his weapon was useless. Roaring in rage at the loss of his tool of carnage, he tore into the remaining ranks of undead, tearing them apart and beating their comrades with the pieces.

Knowing that the battle was lost, the commander turned and ran before the demon could chew up the few stubborn warriors that still fought on. He found it hard to believe that after all he had done to survive, he was on the run again. A few weeks ago, he had been a captain in the Alliance army, and had sold out his company to the forsaken when things started looking bad. For it, Varmitharas gave him command of a regiment. 

But he knew that the Dread Lord would not be pleased with a failure of this magnitude, most certainly not pleased enough to spare the survivors. Still, the commander had saved a good portion of loot that had been taken from raids on the human villages, and his pockets were full of gold. He might be able to barter passage on one of the ships with the more dubious type of captain, and flee across the sea to Kalimdor where he could perhaps have more options.

Looking back one last time, he could see a burst of flame and hear a few dying screams. The screams of his troops. They would never know that their commander had fled, and would certainly never scream again either. Shivering at the sound and at the stench of cooking meat, he turned his gaze forward again, preparing to run faster…

And so he never knew what hit him as the goblin's ridiculously large wooden mallet came crashing down upon his head.

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Glick had heard the annoyingly shrill screams and shouts of the undead, and had naturally decided not to miss the action. Peering through his pipes, he had seen, to his great amusement, what looked like a nude human sticking it to a whole army of undead. The carnage and gore didn't really bother him, as goblins were by nature as brutal as they were brilliant. Still, Glick found the amount of destruction that the human could dish out was amazing, and he couldn't truthfully say that he was sad to see the undead go flying in pieces.

Then he had seen the commander, the one who had sent the ghoul flying into the bushes earlier, trying to flee the scene. Now Glick wouldn't have that; he had taken a dislike to the commander's shouting earlier, and besides it looked like the undead's pockets were heavily weighed down with what could only be gold. With a last peek through the pipes to make sure that the rest of the undead were occupied with fighting the strange human, he walked over to a ladder and picked up his huge wooden mallet. The mallet was nearly as big as him, but it was wood and Glick was a goblin. Slinging it over his shoulder with ease, he began his ascent up the ladder.

Once he had reached the top, he squeezed through a small hole in the rock. Glick had discovered the cavern months ago when he was prowling around the small hill formed by the stone. His foot had gotten stuck in the hole that he now used to enter and leave his workshop, and in order to loosen it he had to drop through the hole. After getting out of the cavern (which took some time), he had cooked up a few explosives and made the hole wide enough for him to bring his tools and materials underground.

He was just in time. The next day a forsaken army had passed right through where his former workshop lay. They looted what materials they could and burned the rest. Glick of course lost nothing of value in the fire, but the loss of a few days profit was galling to the goblin. Now finally he could, in part at least, repay the debt.

_Run me out of business, eh? _Glick thought. _Let's see about that._

The goblin hid behind a tree as the commander ran by in his mad rush to escape. It was very simple really to step out and tap the undead over the head with his mallet. The commander crumpled like paper, and the goblin eagerly stripped the forsaken of everything he had.

"Well now, someone's a wealthy cadaver!" Glick cackled. He had counted out over a hundred pieces of gold. That would go a long way towards repaying his debt, that was for sure.

Suddenly Glick became aware of someone watching him. He turned around to see the human staring at him, blood and gore dripping from his arms. For a moment Glick was scared, the memory of what the human had done to forsaken all too clear in his mind. But just as quickly he realized that the bloodlust had left the human's eyes, and what looked like confusion and horror had replaced it. Glick stared at the human and then spoke.

"By profit, what're you doing out here like that?"

The human stared back at Glick before replying. He spoke nervously, almost as if it were the first time his mouth had ever formed words.

"I don't know. Who are you?"

At this Glick was puzzled. The human was possessed of nearly superhuman strength, wandered through undead territory without clothing, and now didn't even seem to know what he was doing there. A confusing combination if Glick ever saw one.

"Well, my name is Glick, and I'm a goblin. I build stuff and sell stuff, and now may I ask who you are?"

"I don't know." The human said sadly.

"Well, let me help you out there." Glick said. "You appear to be a human, but don't fight like one. You are in desperate need of a bath, and you should NOT go around these woods naked!"

The human looked at the goblin strangely, then laughed.

"I don't seem to know much Glick; not even where I came from or who I am. All I know is that I woke up here today in the middle of a burning crater and that whenever I get near these creatures, I do terrible, terrible things." He said, gesturing back towards the scene of the battle.

Glick nodded. It was a fair answer, except that it didn't really answer anything. Knowing that he wasn't going to get any more information from the strange human, Glick instead changed the subject.

"Don't feel so bad about smashing a few undead; most people around here'll thank you for it actually. Anyway, why don't you come on down? Let's wash off that atrocious smell."

The human nodded and followed Glick down the ladder. The human didn't seem to be surprised when he saw the goblin's large workshop, probably because he found everything equally strange. Glick led him past the zeppelin, which the human seemed to look at with interest, and to the deepest part of the cavern where the small underground stream flowed through. Goblins rarely took baths, if ever, and Glick, who had an especial aversion to humidity, found that the stream was good only for drinking and cooling metal. But the human, still covered in filth, would have a much better use for it.

"Well? Jump in!" Glick said as the human eyed the stream curiously.

The human stepped in, and as he did the water began to steam and hiss. No longer surprised at anything about the mysterious human, Glick merely silently complained about humidity the steam was generating. As the human washed himself clean, Glick took the red tunic and suit of light armor that he had looted off of the undead commander and showed the human how to put it on. Glick had no use for the suit, and the kind of people he might have sold it to had all been scared off by the forsaken.

After the human looked presentable, Glick rummaged around his pile of weapons. Finding a long sword that seemed to fit the warrior well, he handed it to the human. Thanking the goblin graciously, he then turned to observe the zeppelin. Pleased at the admiration his work was getting, the goblin chuckled.

"You like my masterpiece? Just wait until it's complete, this baby's gonna make me rich!"

"What exactly dose it do?" The human asked.

"It's a zeppelin! A flying machine!" Glick said proudly.

At this the human's eyes lit up. "You mean you can actually fly in this?"

"That's right! As soon as it's done, that is."

The human nodded his head. "And what did you call it again?"

"A zeppelin."

"Zeppelin. I like the word." The human murmured, rolling the word around his mouth.

"Well, why don't you call yourself Zepp then?" The goblin cackled at his little joke.

Missing the sarcasm, Zepp nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait, you're leaving already?" Glick asked.

"Yes. I thank you, you've given me what I needed; a name. Now that I have some idea of who I am, I can try to answer the other questions about myself."

Glick looked at Zepp like he was crazy. "Well, if you have to leave right now named after a zeppelin, you gotta at least have some idea of where you're goin. About ten miles southwest from here, there's a human village. I used to get food from there. Maybe the villagers there can help you out."

Zepp nodded again. "Thank you again. I'll come back to see you sometimes."

"Sure, why not?"

Zepp spun around and began climbing the ladder. As he squeezed through the hole at the top, Glick reflected on how it actually didn't hurt to be generous once in a while. So long as it didn't get in the way of profit, of course.


End file.
